From one sheep, to another:

Natural-Writing Prompt

It’s frightening to me, thinking of all the pieces of ourselves we feel compelled to keep hidden from the world.

This need to fit in among the masses who, truth be told, care nothing for us and will notice nothing missing when at last we yield to what lies Beyond. The people we so desperately want to please are so desperately wanting to please everyone else that they don’t have time nor desire to notice you.

My entire life, fear of being judged ruled over me. Still does, though I am able now to recognize it. It’s not something one can just let go of once. It’s a process. It’s a choice. A choice that must be made every day, every moment.

Some moments, I’m braver than during others.

More often than I care to admit, I’m still afraid.

 

 

 

Rest

How do I begin when all I  see is the end?

There is no past,

no present,

no tomorrow.

Just a timeless dark that stretches into eternity

and reaches for my hand.

“Do you trust me?” it whispers.

My feet betray me as I step forward,

ever closer,

to the abyss that beckons me home.

 

 

So, why?

Why am I doing this?  I’m trying to figure it out. People blog to educate. To push agendas. To bitch and moan. Some do it to inspire others.

Some want you to believe in the impossible, so they blog about sensational stories and improbable explanations.

Some want you to see the world as they do, so they share their Truth to enlighten you.

Some want to be someone they can never be, so they create personas and offer the “woke up like this!” bullshit, forgetting people who know them IRL are still reading.  (Yeah, you aren’t fooling anyone, Sunshine.)

I have no interest in such things.

My motive is pure:

To write.

Because I can.

Because I need to.

Because if I don’t, I’ll die having never tried.

And that is something I cannot let happen.

 

The Journey Begins

Here it is. My first step. My leap of faith.

You know what my problem is?

I have zero consistency. I am stellar at creating plans and making promises to myself. However, life is what it is, and in the name of honesty I will admit that I keep none of the promises I make to myself. I strive to keep the ones I make to others, but I have become dependably- undependable and reliably-unreliable.  It is what it is. I own it.

So here. This is where I cut the bullshit. I’m not making any promises. I’m not making any plans. This is just me- real, unedited and not yet rated.

I have no idea what’s going to happen next.